


Five times Nathalie Sancoeur was almost Akumatized + the one time she was

by Ragingstillness



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: 5+1 Fic, Akumas, F/M, I take liberties in Akuma powers b/c of my Nathalie headcanons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-10-09 08:14:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10407792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragingstillness/pseuds/Ragingstillness
Summary: And everyone was screwed.





	1. NOPE

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poppicock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poppicock/gifts).



    She honestly should have been surprised it didn’t happen earlier. She was an executive assistant for goodness sake, arguably one of the most stressful jobs in the world. Coupled with desperately trying to keep her work and personal life separate, running on an awful small amount of sleep, and dealing with the oppressive atmosphere that hung around the Agreste mansion like mist on the Seine, Nathalie really ought not to have been surprised at all. 

    Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but stare, unblinking, at the black butterfly flitting in through the high window, her thoughts floating around the vicinity of, _what in the world_? 

    She made to get up but the creature was really much too fast and whizzed into her glasses before she could stop it. 

    It felt as though a heavy blanket had been thrown over her head. Her body was paralyzed and her eyes wouldn’t leave a single point in front of her. Out of the corners of her eyes neon purple lines were drawn into a vaguely butterfly shape over her face. She didn’t hace a second to shiver before a deep voice echoed in her head. It introduced itself as Le Papillon, which would have been funny if she wasn’t interally panicking over how she was about to put Adrien and Gabriel in horrible danger. 

    Le Papillon made her an offer, the power to punish Gabriel for the overtime he’d been giving her, in exchange for some pieces of jewelry from Ladybug and Chat Noir. 

    She still couldn’t move but her emotions were roiling. A fury still boiled from Gabriel’s actions along with sadness, stress, and exhaustion but overwhelmingly she was terrified of how much damage she might do while akumatized. Visions swam before her eyes of the mansion in ruins, Adrien and Gabriel in casts, begging her to stop. There was no pleasure, not even that of revenge, to be found in those images. 

    With a herculean effort, Nathalie closed her eyes, focused on Gabriel and Adrien’s worried faces, and ripped her glasses from her face, crushing them in her fist. 

    The glass shattered, slashing up her palm. She relished the sensation, pain preferable to the emptiness that the butterfly had given her. Nathalie slumped on her desk, noticing in the back of her mind that she was hyperventilating and blood was dripping from her fist onto the pristine white surface of the desk. 

    There was a knock on her door. She stood with difficulty and opened it, hiding her injured hand behind her back. It was Alan, his hulking mass drawn up in a dignified manner in the frame. She raised an eyebrow at him. 

    “I came down to check on you. From my view on the monitors, it looked like you passed out.” 

    Nathalie pasted on a small smile, which she immediately knew was a mistake, as she didn’t smile much. 

    “I’m fine,” She nonetheless reassured. “There was some very small print on a document and I just had to lean forward to read it.” 

    Alan’s eyes narrowed. “You use a tablet.” 

    He didn’t need to say more. Nathalie sighed. All the greatest lies must have a kernel of truth. 

    “I’ll try to get more sleep. Thank you for your concern, Alan.” 

    His eyes softened. With a quick nod he left the room, polished boot heels clacking on the tile. 

    Nathalie returned to her desk, wiping the sweat from her brow with a handkerchief and then using the same to wrap her hand. It was painful, but well worth it to avoid further questions. It made little sense to tell anyone, and she was a prideful woman. Her emotional state had put her employer and his son in danger. The black butterfly probably went off to someone else and, Nathalie promised herself, she’d never give it an opportunity to come back. 


	2. Run Forrest, Run!

    When that damned butterfly began to fly into the room this time, Nathalie was ready for it. 

    But she hadn’t woken up that way. Nathalie had forgotten to change her watch back over to Paris time and it blared out a Hong Kong morning at one a.m. The watch was flung across the room after its alarm was turned off but the satisfying shattering noise against the wall wasn’t forthcoming. It rested atop Nathalie’s work uniform for the remainder of the night. 

    Or morning, for poor Nathalie, who, while she was a deep sleeper, also faced the unfortunately consequence of being unable to go back to sleep once roused. She’d tried everything short of medication but nothing helped. Books, nature sounds, even political debates. Nothing. Her eyes ached and stung but she wouldn’t sleep. 

    In frustration, she pulled out her tablet and scrolled through the email, only to find that the amateur designers were not ready for the upcoming show, at all, and had been frantically emailing her since midnight last night with requests ranging from lightly concerned questions about their work to full on panicked inquiries about how best to avoid getting murdered by Gabriel for it. 

    She sent them a group message spelling out in polite terms, “this is your fault. I can’t help you.” That usually worked and they lost a bit more sleep trying to earn a disappointed sigh at most from M. Agreste but because at two in the morning the day was already being difficult and therefore decided to throw her furious replies from what looked like everyone she’d just sent the group message to. 

    Nathalie grimaced. This group of designers had created several pieces that pleased her aesthetic so, that she had painstakingly carved out more time in the schedule than usual to get them ready for the show. And they had still failed her. And had the nerve to complain about it! 

    What were the senior designers doing? They should have taught the younger staff the rules of working for the _Gabriel_ brand first thing. The first rule on the list being, Don’t piss off M. Agreste, and the second being DON’T PISS OFF MLLE. SANCOEUR! 

    Nathalie wrenched her gaze away from the bright screen, squinting across the room at the digital numbers of her clock. 2:45. A. M. Not helpful. 

    A faint turquoise light glimmered along the edge of the floor, set right above the moulding. Her gaze followed the light to its brothers, all secured at the exact same height and the exact same distance apart, leading to her kitchen, bathroom, and lounge. The office ones were behind a wall and out of sight. Nathalie had installed them the second night after she moved in, having learned that blackout curtains + no glasses = blind Nathalie + almost broken ankle. 

    Her tablet dinged softly again, another email popping up, this one the coalescence of the anger of every designer in reply to her group message. She set the infernal thing aside and got up. The lights cast odd shadows up her legs as she moved, glinting off her pedicure. 

    Nathalie winced as she reached the kitchen. Aside from the bathroom it was the only room in the suite that had tiled floor. At some point in her frenzied tossing and turning, she must have pushed off her fuzzy pink socks and they were now hidden so deep in her comforter she might have to go spelunking for them. 

    She opened the pantry. Nothing tasty in there, just a ton of ingredients for tasty things. Nathalie was sleep deprived and frustrated, not crazy. She wasn’t up for cooking at 3:00 a.m. 

    The fridge yielded slightly better results. There was a cup of yaourt and a whole jar of Nutella. She spooned the yaourt into her mouth, leaning against her counter, marveling at the way the whole world seemed to look blue in these witching hours. 

    Then she returned to her bed with the Nutella, setting the opened jar on her bedside table. She dipped her right index finger into it and brought it to her mouth as her left hand tapped out a scathing reply to the designers, letting them know in still polite but less subtle terms that she didn’t appreciate their comments, wanted them to just get back to work, and wondered why they possibly thought it would be a good idea to email their boss’s executive assistant at all hours of the night. 

    There was no response for several minutes. She dipped two fingers into the Nutella. It really was amazing stuff. But just as she thought her luck was changing, a reply came in from one of the more sensitive senior designers, admonishing her for making the new recruits cry. 

    Nathalie nearly threw the device across the room. She licked her fingers entirely clean and opened a new email, typing with both hands. In it, she told the senior designer, in plain terms, she was just too tired, that they had better force the younger ones to get their act together for this show, or else. She locked the screen before any other messages could come in. 

    She heard the dings, but ignored them, pulling the jar of Nutella into her lap, and slouching into what was promising to be a very long morning. The dings stopped after another hour but Nathalie did not sleep. The Nutella probably wasn’t helping. 

    At six the alarm she _had_ remembered to set on her tablet went off. When she turned the screen over she noticed a message. _47 notifications_. Wonderful. 

    She showered briefly, took a moment to regard the candy red streak in her hair for a moment and make a mental note to re-dye it. Then it became part of her bun, the tiny pearl white studs went in, the periwinkle eyeshadow went on. The watch was fetched from her work uniform and reset to Paris time with perhaps more force than was strictly necessary. 

    The rest of her morning routine passed in the exact ten minutes it was supposed to and everything was going well right until the moment she had to walk out the door. Her shoes weren’t on the mat. 

    Nathalie groaned. They were most likely still in her suitcase from the trip. She really didn’t feel like digging for them through her clothes and toiletries. But she couldn’t exactly show up to the Agreste mansion in bare feet. The image was vaguely funny and amused the childish side of her that thrived on sleep-deprivation and sugar. 

    Her good mood didn’t last long. The shoes were still yet another setback in a series of many. It was like every time she thought she was making headway, the universe laughed and said, “ha, no, you’re getting screwed today.” 

    Nathalie ditched the idea of wasting time in her suitcase and grabbed another set of red heels from the rack. They were higher than her usual ones and chafed a little. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to walk much. And for once she’d be as tall as M. Agreste. That was always helpful when she had to face down his imperious gaze. For the benefit of her sanity, she hoped that wouldn’t happen too often that day. 

    The trip to work was quick and uneventful…was what Nathalie wished she could say. Traffic was awful, and from a pedestrian’s perspective the cacophony was unbearable. Her favorite bakery ran out of croissants, which, felt pretty much impossible for any French bakery worth its salt and Nathalie was beginning to suspect cosmic forces were at play in what had become, in all caps, a BAD DAY. 

    She was on time to work, but only made it because she ran, a practice both undignified, and murder on her feet. She had forgotten really how bad these shoes were. Why did she still own them? 

    To make matters worse, the senior designers had gotten to M. Agreste before her, and made their case for both the younger designers’ plights but also for her being an awful bully who pushed people around at 3:00 a.m. 

    Nathalie grimaced internally and clasped her hands behind her back, making use of M. Agreste’s signature stance to defend herself in overly polite words. The designer was mollified with a weak apology and walked stiffly to the door. 

    Nathalie sighed and turned to M. Agreste, who had remained silent throughout the entire discussion, only to find his hand over his mouth and his eyes crinkling ever so slightly at the corners. 

    Nathalie narrowed her eyes. On any other day she wouldn’t dream of being so insubordinate but the sentence just ripped from her. 

    “Are you laughing at me, sir?” 

    Gabriel’s hand came down and he sucked his lips in for a moment, avoiding her eyes. 

    “No, of course not.” 

    Nathalie turned away from him. Smug jerk. 

    “I’ll be handling coordination of the next show. I trust you will talk with M. Martin?” 

    Gabriel made a noise of confirmation behind her. 

    She took a step forward. There was a snicker. Nathalie bristled and strode out of the office, clacking her heels on the tile as loudly as she could without being too suspicious. 

    The day dragged on in the way only a lack of sleep could let it. Nathalie felt as though there was a weight behind her eyes, pushing her lids down and sapping the energy from her arms and back. Everything seemed a little too bright or a little too glassy. She caught her inner mantra moving from “arrange this, move that, she can deal with this new…” To “I am not in the mood to handle this, seriously, why can’t these people just do their jobs?” 

    Her lunch break couldn’t have come soon enough. And what would you know, she had left her wallet at home. Her wallet! She had brought her tablet, but not her wallet, dealt with the horrendous shoes, and her normally stoic boss getting his kicks from her distress, no more! 

    Nathalie blinked. That thought had been a little dangerous. She scanned the room. No one else around. 

    Then she speed-walked to her office, her mood spiraling as she went. Nathalie pulled out the lowest right hand drawer of her desk and took out a pair of sensible running shoes. She slid the awful red torture devices off and put the running shoes on. 

    It didn’t take more than a minute, and then she heard the sound of flapping wings. Nathalie didn’t even spare the butterfly a glance, taking off at top speed. 

    She weaved carelessly through a multitude of much-too-large rooms, heedless for once of how she behaved in her boss’s home. Her brain drew up a schematic of the mansion. Dining room, Nathalie vaulted off one of the chairs; foyer, she skidded across the floor into a sharp turn; staircase, she took the steps two at a time; second floor den, her feet danced over stacks of paper and armchairs; empty guest bedroom, back staircase, design room, first floor pantry--POOL! 

    Nathalie tried to slow down much too late and found herself tripping over the marble edges and falling right into one of the Agreste family’s Olympic sized swimming pools. The shock knocked some of her breath out of her and while the water slowed her down, the butterfly had no such issues. 

    Nathalie didn’t even have a moment to break for the surface before the creature reached her and disappeared into one of her cufflinks. The heavy feeling came again, then the paralysis, and Nathalie realized she was in big trouble. Being stuck underwater, unable to move, wasn’t just akumatizing, it was potentially deadly. 

    Le Papillon’s voice echoed in her head, urging her to take the power, teasing her about her situation, but Nathalie still pushed back, shoving at his influence as best as she could. 

    A sudden sting of pain ran through her, coming from within her own head and the voice in it. She flinched with the shock and made the worst mistake of the day: she let out a gasp. 

    Immediately the water rushed in and Nathalie was helpless to stop it. There was pain, so much pain, and the desperate need to breathe, left unfulfilled. Le Papillon’s voice slurred and Nathalie wondered vaguely if this was how she would die, drowning in her boss’s pool. 

    Then just as Le Papillon’s voice had become almost inaudible, the pressure was gone along with his echoey tones. Strength came from a reserve Nathalie hadn’t known she had and she clawed her way to the surface, grasping the wall and hauling herself out, choking and gasping. 

    She flopped onto her side, her eyes focusing and refocusing on the wall across the way. 

    Running footsteps registered on the edges of her awareness. Then the shiny black toes of her boss’s boots came into her field of vision. 

    Gabriel rushed forward and dropped to his knees at her side, heedless of the water staining his red slacks. 

    “Nathalie! Nathalie!” He demanded. “Are you still with me?” 

    She tried to speak but just got out some sort of noise. 

    Nathalie expected Gabriel to call Alan and it was quite the surprise to feel his hands turn her over and scoop her up into his arms, cradled against his chest. Nathalie protested weakly, trying to keep her wet hair off of his silk vest, but he silenced her with a single look. 

    “What happened?” He inquired. “You’re soaking wet.” 

    Taking a couple of deep breaths revived her enough for one word. 

    “Akuma.” 

    Gabriel’s eyes widened in panic. 

    “It is still here?” 

    Nathalie shook her head. The tension drained from his posture. 

    Gabriel tightened his grip on her and stood. Nathalie flailed a hand out to tug his sleeve. 

    “S-sir…I can, *cough* walk.” 

    There was that imperious gaze. 

    “Don’t be ridiculous. You look drowned.” 

    At the goosebumps that ran up her arms, the edges of his eyes tightened. 

    “All the more reason to keep you from doing anything stupid.” 

    He turned the gaze up a couple notches. 

    Nathalie let her head thunk against his chest. It was as much acquiescence as he was going to get. 

    Gabriel carried her all the way up the stairs to one of the guest rooms, leaving a trail of water down the halls. Nathalie mourned the poor maid who’d have to clean it up. 

    She wasn’t let down until Gabriel had opened the door to the bathroom with his foot. He set her in the bathtub, disappeared for a second, and reappeared with a green robe. 

    “Take those wet clothes off quickly,” he ordered. “Then shower. Once you’ve recovered, call my office. We should be able to find you a change of clothes.” 

    The words were brusque but caring in content. Shocked a bit by the sudden consideration, Nathalie just nodded. 

    Gabriel closed the door behind him and took off to wherever he was before he had carried her up. As she turned the shower head to the hottest setting possible and began to lay her blazer aside, Nathalie’s mind rolled the idea over. Where had he been? And how had he known she was in the pool? She let it bother her throughout the showering process, because it meant not focusing on how close to death she’d come. 

    Clad in what felt like the world’s fluffiest robe, Nathalie picked up the phone on the bedside table and dialed M. Agreste’s office number. He picked up halfway through the first ring. 

    “One of the maids has a dress she’s bringing over.” 

    No greeting, no pauses, classic Agreste. Nathalie almost grinned in spite of herself. 

    “Thank you, sir.” 

    “Of course.” 

    There was a brief silence and Nathalie heard papers shuffling on the other end. 

    “How-” She began. 

    “-How did I know where you were and got to you so fast?” 

    Nathalie nodded, although he couldn’t see her. 

    “Simple. I have the security camera views for all of the more dangerous rooms in the house constantly on one of my monitors. They were intended to help me keep an eye on Adrien. But today they served another purpose.” 

    “One I am very grateful for, I assure you, sir.” 

    “Indeed. When you are dressed, come here. I saw the moment you tripped and went in but I know nothing about what happened beforehand.” 

    “Yes, sir.” 

    The maid knocked on the bedroom door a moment later with a long daisy white dress. Nathalie had never been a white dress kind of person, but it would have to do. It was opaque and sensible at least, covering the equally white undergarments with a sweetheart neckline. The dress gathered at the waist and then fell down straight, stopping mid calf. It could have been much worse. 

    Nathalie thanked the woman for it, and the plastic garment bag that was given as well, which she filled with her wet clothes. 

    She realized halfway to Gabriel’s office that she was indeed, walking through her boss’s mansion that day in bare feet. The thought made her want to laugh hysterically, but she squashed the notion, chalking it up to shock and the, still present, though temporarily banished by adrenaline, sleep deprivation. 

    Gabriel gave her an interesting once-over when she came in. Then he turned back to the design he was finishing. 

    “White isn’t really your color but your hair looks nice down.” 

    Only in the fashion industry, Nathalie mused, or really in this specific company, could that comment not be an odd form of come-on. 

    She sat in the chair in front of his desk and waited from him to finish the drawing. Time spent in a field so dominated by artists of all kinds had taught Nathalie quickly the lesson of allowing an artist to finish their “thought” per say before the attitude or inspiration escaped them. 

    When he did set the paper to the side and turn to her she launched into a condensed version of the story. She had not slept well and had quite a run of bad luck. When she saw the butterfly coming she had ran, miscalculated, and ended up in the pool. 

    Here she told a white lie, paying it wouldn’t bite her later. She told him she couldn’t swim. Despite her best efforts, it seemed he had caught it as an arched brow was the only response she got to that statement. Luckily he didn’t comment, on that or on her inexplicably having changed shoes at some point during the story. 

    It wasn’t that she didn’t want to tell him the truth, but Nathalie honestly feared he might not believe her. People didn’t just reject Akumas. She had never heard of it before and if there had been even one case she was sure Ladybug and Chat Noir would have investigated and then publicized the results in order to protect the populace. 

    When Gabriel asked where the Akuma had gone, she claimed it must have flown away and akumatized someone else. He wasn’t very accepting of that fact either but something of her miserable state must have struck a tiny thread of mercy in him and he not only didn’t question it but sent her home. 

    Despite the sense of productivity, slipping ever so disturbingly away, Nathalie had never been more grateful for an entire afternoon of napping.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah, woah. And actual update without a delay of like three months? What?! I wrote like 3,000 words in one day. Good lord. Well I guess I really wasn’t kidding when I said the other chapters would be longer than the first one. We have also entered the official, let-me-tell-you-my-nathalie-headcanons zone. So get pumped. Also, get ready to watch me overuse color words because, they’re in the fashion industry, I refuse to just use “black” and “blue.” 
> 
> Random stuffs:
> 
> Yaourt- the French word for yogurt. I just had to include it because it is one of the most awkward and yet awesome French words to say. I mean, it has four vowels in a row! (Excuse my French nerdiness)   
> M.- the French abbreviation for Monsieur. Is meant for married or unmarried men and the English equivalent is Mr.  
> Mlle.- the French abbreviation for Mademoiselle. Is meant for unmarried women and the English equivalent is Miss.   
> Hong Kong- idk, the time difference is just seven hours so Nathalie’s alarm was set for a Hong Kong 8:00 and she got 1:00.


	3. Kill it! Kill it with FIRE!!!

    Nathalie methodically opened the browser. She typed the words and pressed « retour »   
The first result was a dictionary definition. She opened the page and read it aloud softly. 

    “ **Premeditated Murder** : the term that is used to describe a murder that was planned in advance and was carried out willfully.” Huh, that didn’t sound so unattractive right then. 

    She was going to plan in advance and then willfully murder the regional manager. 

    As the head of a fashion company, Nathalie had always assumed M. Agreste had good taste. In clothing, in delicacies, in venues. Yet somehow, somewhere along the space time continuum, he had decided that it was a great idea to hire _that_ man. 

    It wasn’t that the regional manager was lazy or had an annoying voice. His name was Georges, and he was quite organized. He did his job on time and knew how to deal with difficult personnel. He would have been perfect if not for one tiny, itty bitty, glaring, gigantic flaw. 

    Now Gabriel’s original plan had been to leave the HQ in Georges’ hands while he flew to Milan and have Nathalie show Georges the ropes of running a building much larger than what he had in the past. This put them in contact quite often, but unfortunately not in the context of teacher and student, unless Georges was creepily into that. 

    It had all gone wrong from the start. The day Georges was to arrive, Nathalie’s hair tie had snapped on the car ride over, leaving her little choice but to let her hair stay down for the rest of the day. She took the change in stride; long hair required a lot of brushing out of her face but she could handle it. 

    Which was enough for Georges. She came in, brushed a few errant locks away, shook his hand, and noticed, with a sinking sense of horror, the hopelessly glazed look in his eyes. 

    He had stuttered when he greeted her. A grown man! It had only gotten worse since. 

    He wasn’t necessarily a sleaze, never getting physical or throwing out innuendos, just annoying. So. So. So. Annoying. He played the flattered gentleman to perfection, with everything from giant bouquets of flowers cluttering up her desk, to sickening love poems hidden in company memos, to just soft little platitudes he snuck into everyday speech. 

    Nathalie was no fool. He really shouldn’t have been pursuing her, for many reasons. The smallest of which was that flirting through work was weird and the largest of which was that he had a teenager! He was divorced, and therefore single, but still, attaching himself to women with little thought of his daughter…Nathalie certainly wasn’t privy to many proper displays of parenting in her daily life but common sense could dictate this one. 

    She didn’t take his advances lying down. Nathalie was quick to shut him out at every opportunity, telling him in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t interested. But he laughed it off and kept doing what he did. That was where she started to get truly angry.

    Regardless of the severity of his crimes, continuing to pursue her after she had asked him to stop, acting like her opinion would clearly change because she didn’t know what was best for herself, that was sexual harassment, plain and simple. 

    At least she only had to deal with him for one more day. Then he would leave, she could complain about him from a distance, and life would go on. But of course nothing was that easy.

    Georges pranced into her office, the day before his departure, his slick dark hair barely visible over the mountain of flowers he was carrying. He dumped the assorted monstrosity onto her desk, right atop her papers. Nathalie grimaced, not even trying to hide it.

    “Good morning, Nathalie, my dear.” 

    “I’ve asked you not to call me that, M. DuPont.”

    “Come on, Nat-”

    “I’ve asked you not to call me that as well M. DuPont. I am Mlle. Sancoeur to you.”

    Normally Nathalie would have despised hearing anyone call her by her last name, but after almost a week of Georges’ simpering Na-tha-lie’s, she’d had enough. 

    “Well then,” Georges took a deep breath. Nathalie began internally screaming.

    “I’m afraid I come to you with a matter of great import.” 

_Who spoke like that anymore?_

    “I have to get this off my chest, before I leave you, and this office, for a while.”

_Please make it longer than a while._

    He reached forward, almost touching her hand, but not. That was lucky for him. She would have picked it up and slapped him with it, co-workers be damned.

    “From the very moment I met you, Mlle. Sancoeur, I will admit I was utterly enchanted. I may have been a little heavy-handed in my affections but I assure you, they were all genuine.” 

_A_ little _heavy-handed? Be as genuine as you like it still doesn’t mean I have to like you._

    “And as my affections have only overflowed in this week we have spent together--”

_Together? I avoided you for most of it._

    “I must ask you, in the most honest way I can, setting all business aside, will you go out with me?” 

    Nathalie’s justice was swift and merciless. 

    “No.”

    “But my dear why not?”

    Nathalie gave up trying to keep her composure. She set her pen to the side, shoved open a gap between the mismatched flowers, and propped her chin on her hand.

    “M. DuPont. As I have assured you, time and _time_ again, I am not interested in you. The advances you have made towards me were inappropriate at best and grounds for a lawsuit at worst. I make myself very clear: I don’t like you, I won’t go out with you, please get out of my office.”

    The _please_ took a little willpower to include.

    M. DuPont gasped like a fainting maiden from a Jane Austen novel. 

    “But, my dear-”

    “I have told you not to call me that. I am not your dear, I am not your anything. Get out of my office.”

    “Nathalie-”

    She slammed her palms on the table, standing. She flung out her arm brutally, locking her elbow, and jabbed her finger towards the door. 

    “Get out of my office, M. DuPont.”

    He didn’t move, poking the flowers and looking forlorn. Nathalie almost exploded. Rounding the desk, she took hold of his arm, steered him to the door, shoved him out, and locked it behind her. 

    Nathalie slumped against the door, sighing. Then her ire rose again, with memories of the entire exhausting week. She swept the flowers onto the floor with an arm and pulled her keyboard towards her, keeping the tab on premeditated murder open and pulling out her email. 

    She clicked the To line: Gabriel Agreste. Subject: Important. In the body of the email she included a single sentence. “Fire the regional manager, or I’m filing a sexual harassment lawsuit.” With a flourish, Nathalie signed it and clicked the send button. 

    A suspicious noise sounded at her window. She groaned and looked up. A black butterfly with little purple streaks was phasing through, and floating, ever so innocently, into the room. 

    She got up and sprinted out, much the same as she had before, but this time, she knew where she was going. 

    A couple of down staircases and hallways later and Nathalie had reached her destination. The armory. 

    Why a house so modern had something as archaic as an armory, Nathalie would never know, all she did know was that now she had access to plenty of sharp spiky things and a convenient target to use them on.

    She reached for a javelin first, twirling the thing between her fingers. Then she reared back and flung it at the incoming butterfly, which twisted just out of reach. The wooden end of the weapon vibrated as it stuck into the wall. 

    A couple of daggers were next. But not matter how good Nathalie’s aim was, the butterfly was always a little bit faster. It was times like these that she thanked Gabriel for having reinforced the walls specifically for the use of these weapons in exercise, otherwise she’d be paying quite the property damage bills.

    As it was, the butterfly still hadn’t been killed so Nathalie said, screw it, and reached for her weapon of choice, a modern recurve bow. Two whole quivers later, straining back muscles, and two stinging marks on her right forearm from turning too fast, the butterfly was still disgustingly alive.

    Nathalie raced along the wall, looking for a better option. She found it in a long green item covered by a display case. She took it out, flung the pack on, and turned to the butterfly.

    It stopped short in its flight. Nathalie grinned maniacally. Her fingers tightened on both levers. 

    “You know what this baby can do don’t you, Papillon?” 

    The butterfly didn’t move, Nathalie’s grin turned into a frown. 

    “Well let me tell you something. Regardless of if I use this or not, I’m having a pretty horrible day. I’ll admit it, Georges makes me furious. But Papillon, my anger at Georges is nothing compared to my anger at you.” 

    She raised her voice to a shout. 

    “So unless you want to create your own worst enemy I suggest you back off!” 

    And to her surprise, it worked. The butterfly swooped out of the room. Nathalie waited a minute, it didn’t return. 

    The tension drained from her body and she shrugged the decrepit flamethrower off her back. It was much too old to function, thank goodness she’d been the only one of the two who knew that. And that thing was heavy!

    She regarded it, the long metal tube, the backpack vest combination. Why on Earth did M. Agreste have this in an armory anyway? It wasn’t a stunt model either. This was a weapon of war. Up to 25 meters of burning napalm was supposed to come out of this thing. She shuddered to think of the possible damage to the structural integrity of the building had it been functional.

    Nathalie replaced the weapons as best she could and jogged up the stairs, her ankles throbbing in the low heels she’d been fighting in. Unfortunately the running shoes were wet and she had taken them home to dry after her last mid-afternoon swim.

    It felt quite surreal to settle back into her desk after her last few minutes in a medieval dungeon, and even more surreal to be surrounded on all sides by the flower bouquets like she was some kind of nature fairy. 

    But Disney-princess-esque setting aside, she still had work to do and a couple more hours before Georges left for good. 

    Yet the day was not done surprising her. 

    Two hours later she began to hear noises coming from the first floor, voices, sounding a bit surprised and a bit rushed. The sounds died down soon after but then a knock came at her door.

    She opened it to see a moderately disheveled Gabriel. He opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off.

    “Sir, you’re a whole day early. Did something happen in Milan?” 

    Gabriel cleared his throat and carefully looked her up and down.

    “You seem…fine.”

    Nathalie frowned. “Yes, of course Sir, why do you ask?”

    Gabriel sighed and ran a hand through his hair, messing it up further. He pulled out his phone. “Your email,” he stated, holding the screen up to her. 

    Understanding dawned. Nathalie paled. 

    “Dear God, Sir, I am _so_ sorry, I never meant to bring you home early, I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.” She was rambling, panicked.

    Gabriel shook his head decisively. 

    “Don’t apologize. You didn’t _make_ me do anything.”

    He smoothed his hand over his chin, partially covering his mouth. He paused.

    “I was worried, so I came home.” 

    Had someone set her face on fire? It certainly felt like it. 

    “I apologize for sending such a worrying message. I promise to be more thorough in the future.” 

    Gabriel huffed, his eyes narrowing. “I think this is enough. I would have come back no matter how much you elaborated.”

    Then his head lowered, eyes sinking to his shoes. One of his hands reached out to her. She took it immediately. 

    “If anything,” he began. “I’m the one who should be sorry. That man should have been vetted further, I shouldn’t have let him anywhere near you, I should have stayed to teach him myself--” He sounded furious. 

    Nathalie cut him off with a squeeze of his hand. 

    “Please.” 

    He looked up.

    “Did you fire him?”

    Gabriel’s eyes widened. His grip on her hand tightened. 

    “Of course! How could I possibly let him continue to work for me after he-- I would never have let him--”

    Nathalie locked eyes with him and raised hers, forcing him to straighten up with her. 

    “Then I’m fine. Really. He’s gone, punished, and hopefully knows not to try it again.” 

    “I could have him blacklisted.”

    “ _Gabriel_. That’s a bit vindictive.” 

    “It’s your decision.” 

    “Then no, I don’t want him blacklisted. But if we ever hear about him doing something like it again--”

    “I get to set him aflame.”

    Nathalie chuckled. “Something of the sort.” 

    Then memories from before floated to the top of her mind. She sat on the edge of her desk, the corners of her lips quirking up. 

    “Speaking of fire…”

    Gabriel mirrored her expression and leaned back against the door, his arms crossed loosely. 

    “Yes?”

    “I have a couple of questions.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Half of this is literally sexual harassment in the workplace needs to meet death, and the other half is, hey, I did a research project on flamethrowers once. Why does the house have a basement armory filled with medieval weapons? I don’t know, I don’t make the rules. Wait. You thought I had a handle on this story? Lol. I don’t drive the characters they drive me. Also, an ominous warning, enjoy the happiness while it lasts…
> 
> Random stuffs:
> 
> Georges DuPont: an OC. Georges because French people and DuPont because it’s a French last name I used in a piece of original fiction that I’m very proud of. It means, of the bridge, approximately.   
> Nathalie hates her last name: I have some beautifully angsty headcanons about this. We’ll see if they make it into this story or if they show up in other works.   
> Retour: Enter on a French keyboard.   
> Gabriel: let me know if you can figure out the significance to when Nathalie calls him Gabriel and when she doesn’t.   
> The GabeNath punching percentage: Hmm, @my fellow Nathalie fans, I may have to break the trope of punches only being confined to HawkNath stories…who knows…
> 
> Next up, Chapter Four: Keep the change, you filthy animal.


	4. Keep the change, you filthy animal

    After the third attack, Nathalie concluded that while Le Papillon certainly had better things to do than come after her, he wasn’t going to give up on such a prime target. He had akumatized others in between sending the butterflies to her, but hadn’t stopped. It was evidence enough. 

    She then deduced, from the stunt that was his first appearance, that one could communicate with him through the butterflies. After she’d worked out that line of reasoning, referencing her own experiences with his mental communication as well as the sparse verbal evidence, the idea to trap a butterfly reached her consciousness. It was dangerous and ill-advised but as long as she wanted them gone she had to take the argument straight to the source. 

    Thus far they’d only attacked her in the mansion, which meant either Le Papillon had no idea where she lived or perhaps the nature of her work led her to get that worked up only in the mansion. Either way, she’d have to trap it there, which was less than ideal. 

    Her apartment would be harder to run away in, but the mansion didn’t belong to her. She had no right to get to work on arming someone else’s house without their permission. 

    Nathalie didn’t give asking Gabriel a single moment’s thought. He would never acquiesce and would demand the whole story as payment for asking. But the house wasn’t Gabriel’s alone, was it? 

    The next day dawned with guilt gently poking at Nathalie’s heart. She was essentially going behind Gabriel’s back and manipulating a boy she deeply cared for in the process. For the purpose of protecting them, she reminded herself. It still felt misguidedly selfish. However, she was out of options. She’d crack at some point and give in. Nathalie didn’t want to consider the destruction that could cause again. It had already haunted her nightmares the whole of the day before. 

    It was a Saturday and she’d cleared Adrien’s early morning. If he slept in, he’d be more malleable. It hurt to treat him like one of her calculated victims. She arrived early, taking up a spot at the kitchen table. Adrien came down exactly when she expected and started to see her set up where she was. 

    “Salut Nathalie.” 

    “Bonjour, Adrien.” 

    She got straight to the point. 

    “I had an idea I wanted to discuss with you.” 

    He sat, back straight and hands folded in front of him. Nathalie winced. 

    “I know this is your morning off and you’re likely to want to relax-” 

    He cut her off politely. 

    “Not at all. I’m available.” 

    No teenager should have to speak that formally. 

    “I’m glad to hear it. It’s about the akuma attacks.” 

    Adrien was paying attention now, genuinely. 

    “I have noticed that, through no particular fault of anyone, this mansion has become the focal point for several attacks. The security team and I agree that we might want to take steps to protect the building.” 

    “We already have the security my father installed.” 

    “We do, but those guard against the tangible threats akumas send at the building, not the magical butterflies that are the cause of them in the first place. I have a couple ideas of how to keep them out but I wanted your input as well as your permission to install the measures.” 

    Adrien’s face had suddenly gone pale. 

    “Why would you ask me for ideas?” 

    Nathalie frowned at him. 

    “Because your school is also often attacked and I figured you’d have a lot of first hand experience.” 

   The boy laughed, loudly. 

   “Sure, I’d love to help.” 

   The next couple hours were spent arming the windows with small cages as well as a “Maman, j'ai raté l'avion!”-worthy set of steel traps that could be activated if one pressed a button, alerting the house to the presence of a butterfly. 

    Adrien had almost unlimited energy and optimism throughout the process. It was a shot to Nathalie’s heart when, before leaving, he suggested that if their system worked they might want to introduce the public to it so Paris could arm all of its buildings. His ideals were really so pure. 

    Nathalie would have wanted to keep the system in her back pocket for when it was needed, but that meant nothing if she didn’t know it worked. Returning to her office, she laced up a new pair of running shoes and opened the door to her office. According to the security cameras, which she had hacked the minute Gabriel informed her they existed, the man was deep in the basement studio flipping through bolts of fabric. He should be safe.

    Nathalie leaned back against her desk, facing the door. She took a deep breath, and let her mental walls down. 

    A cacophony of emotion floored her, childhood traumas screaming over dissatisfaction, exhaustion, sadness, anger. She delved into each of them intimately. If that didn’t attract Le Papillon’s attention, she didn’t know what would. 

    Sure enough, a butterfly appeared at her window. Nathalie ran, pulling her smart phone out as she went and activating the trap program. Obstacles popped up at her heels as she ran, attempting to disrupt the butterfly’s path down the hall. 

    She glanced back. It was still coming. 

    Nathalie hopped a couple of couches, letting traps snap shut, missing the butterfly by centimeters. The objects launched at it went right past or through and Nathalie swore the butterfly was getting faster. She raced through the second floor, stopping at the top of the stairs. The butterfly swooped around the corner. She cupped her hands around her mouth. 

   “Come get me!” 

    It rushed her and Nathalie took one step back, pressing her heel into a hidden floor plate. Steel jaws closed around the butterfly, trapping it in between two walls. Then they withdrew, dropped a small box into Nathalie’s hands. 

    Nathalie held her breath. Nothing. She crept a single step closer, on the balls of her feet. Still nothing. She couldn’t see the butterfly, but reason dictated it was there. Schrödinger’s butterfly. 

    Nathalie let out a whoop of success that became a shriek of alarm as the butterfly shot out of the wall of the cage, straight for her face. She dropped the box and rushed backwards, only too late realizing where she was standing. The railing had always been too low on that staircase anyway. 

    It took her out at the back of the knees, bending them, then there went gravity and she was falling backwards towards hard, polished, marble. She thought she heard a voice, Gabriel’s to be exact, and found it oddly fitting that his clear aggravation would be the last thing she heard. 

    The blood rushed out of her face, she hit something soft at full speed, and then Gabriel’s voice was awfully close to her ear. 

    “W-What the hell!” 

    The voice was sputtering. She must really be in heaven; Gabriel Agreste did not sputter. Nathalie opened her eyes, expecting some impressive pearly gates but instead met Gabriel’s surprised face. Oh no, had he somehow died too? Who would take care of Adrien? 

    Gabriel kept talking rapidly, demanding something of her. Nathalie heard it through a daze. Gee, heaven looked a lot like the mansion’s lobby. Gabriel shook her bodily and she noticed he had an arm beneath her knees and one around her back. 

    It suddenly hit her that she wasn’t in heaven at all and just somewhat sprawled on the floor. The soft feeling came from the pile of fabrics that had been in Gabriel’s hands and that he had dropped to catch her. To catch her. He had caught her. Sunshine suffused her chest.

    The hand under her legs moved, cupping her face and turning it to look right at him. They were inches apart. Gabriel repeated his question. 

    “Do you have a concussion?” 

    There was any number of civilized, sane answers Nathalie could have given. Instead she went with a breathy, “I’m not dead.” 

    “No you’re not, but you might have a concussion. Does anything hurt?” 

    Nathalie took stock of her body. 

   “No actually. I feel fine.” 

    Gabriel exhaled harshly, the air rushing over her face. He set his forehead against hers and his eyes closed. 

    “Sir? Are you alright?” 

    He huffed out a laugh, his eyes still closed. 

    “You’re asking me? You almost gave me a heart attack.” 

    “I’ll try not to do that as often. What would your company do without you?” 

    He snorted, pushing against her a little. Then he pulled back, holding her at arms length. She noted that other than the piled up fabrics, she was basically sitting on his legs. 

    “Now that we’ve ascertained that you won’t need an ambulance, I’d like an explanation for what in the HELL you thought you were doing?” 

    There was a note of fury in his voice even if he didn’t raise it. 

    “I haven’t had the… _time_ to discuss it with you, sir, but I’ve recently become a target for several akumas. I’ve been experimenting to see how I could evade them or otherwise avoid changing. This time I tried to trap one, but as you can see, it startled me with its ability to phase out of any cage. I apologize for the inconvenience.” 

    “Just let it get you.” 

    And like that the note of fury had vanished for a breathy, relieved tone. 

    “Excuse me, sir?” 

    “For goodness sake, Nathalie, just let it catch you. I would rather have to call Ladybug and Chat Noir for an akuma in my home or have to rebuild whole wings of this mansion than know you died from your own seemingly selfless efforts. I can’t lose you.” She lost her breath for a moment, then he threw her own words back at her. “What would the company do without you?” 

    She laughed. The joke was weak, but she laughed, because it was something to do, something she did around her boss apparently, who, she realized, had never seen her laugh before. She snuck a glance at his reaction. His eyes had widened, staring, flushed, at the way she swayed from side to side and wrapped an arm over her waist to keep her ribs inside. 

    “Maybe I should joke more, if it gets me this privilege.” 

    He smirked. Nathalie’s eyes widened. 

   He turned serious once more. 

    “As I was saying, akumas are defeated, your life doesn’t come back.” 

   Nathalie agreed but there was still a point they hadn’t addressed. 

    “While akumatized, I could do damage to you and Adrien, both emotional and physical. I know too much.” 

    “Ladybug’s final move fixes all damage, including injuries.” 

    “Not to sound arrogant Sir, but if I ever do change, I’ll probably be quite the challenge. The more emotionally stable someone is, the more they crack once they do. It would be the same for you.” 

    Nathalie saw her words reach him and knock down his iron-clad confidence. She was grateful. With most other people he’d just throw up another wall and hid behind his reasoning. 

    Even so, Nathalie regretted playing Devil’s Advocate in this instance. Nevertheless, they had to be realistic. Then Gabriel looked up, locking eyes with her. His gaze was steely. 

    “I would still rather have you let them catch you. If my turn comes, I’ll do the same. When all the risks are weighed, giving in is much safer than any other option. We’re dealing with a criminal who has a penchant for taking hostages.” 

    Nathalie’s blood ran cold. Gabriel didn’t live in the same idealistic world the heroes did, laughing at their opponents. The lack of serious damage thus far had made the attitude possible and had pushed the danger to the backs of the public’s minds. 

    “What about Adrien? I couldn’t stand to do him any sort of damage.” 

    Gabriel’s stare didn’t waver. 

    “Adrien loves you, he’d want the same.” 

    The warmth in Nathalie’s chest flushed to a fire. Adrien loved her? She had known for a while that _she_ loved him but her care had never been applied with the thought of some kind of benefit. Nathalie’d been bodily dragged from her apathy with every one of Adrien’s rare smiles and moments of elation. 

    Gabriel’s hand reached towards her cheek, then stopped and curled to his suit jacket. He withdrew a handkerchief, holding it out to her. She blinked at it, the image blurring. 

    Why couldn’t she see it? The conclusion struck like a fencing épée.

    She was crying. But she never cried! Nathalie could barely remember hold old she’d been the last time. Yet here she was, blubbering on the floor because the sweetest boy she’d ever known loved her. 

    Was the embarrassment worth it? She was surprised to find the immediate answer was yes. If Gabriel was fine with sharing Adrien's love, she had no more reason to hide how happy it made her. The salt stung her cheeks. 

    She cursed Gabriel mentally. Now that he’d said it, she wouldn’t be able to forget it. She’d look at Adrien differently, every day. Nathalie choked on a sigh. She might as well get used it. One heartless woman…plus one lovely child. 

    She grasped the handkerchief from Gabriel’s hand, wiping her eyes. They were left smudged with eyeliner but no more tears appeared. She’d never been one to back down from a challenge. 

    Gabriel didn’t question her reaction and she didn’t meet his eyes. He instead slid out from under her and stood, then offered her his hand. She took it and he pulled her up. He cleared his throat. 

    “What’s this you were saying about akumas attacking you?” 

    “They’ve been strangely persistent over the past few months, chasing me around.” 

    “So you must have been changed at some point. I wonder how I missed that.” 

    “You didn’t. I haven’t changed once yet.” 

    Gabriel blinked. 

    “That’s impossible. Everyone who’s been contacted as of yet has changed.” 

    Nathalie brushed off her slacks. 

    “Maybe I’ve just been lucky. Or benefited from extenuating circumstances.” 

    “How many times have you been chased?” 

    “Four, as of now.” 

    “Goodness, Nathalie. You’d think Le Papillon would give up.” 

    “I’d certainly appreciate it.” 

    They were back in the realm she understood: mutual intellectuality. Nathalie found she could now look him in the eye. Even if the expression there was confusing to the extreme, some sort of surface stoicism covering a softness that made her want to look away again. 

    They collected the bolts Gabriel had dropped, bringing them back to his office. There was no need to worry about their condition. The floors of the Agreste mansion were routinely cleaned until Gabriel could see his reflection in them. 

    They laid the bolts upon his large desk and he pulled out a chalk pencil as well as a large pair of scissors. The talk became purely professional again. 

    The only sign that the incident had even happened were the make-up wipes Gabriel handed her when she left, and the phantom sensation of his hands that she just couldn’t seem to shake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spring break being over meant this took longer than expected. I hope you’ll forgive me. The next chapter is going to take me a lot longer to write because of how important it is. Thanks for sticking with me! Leave a kudo or comment if you enjoyed the story, they make my day. 
> 
> Extra stuff:
> 
> Salut- A French casual greeting, used between people who know each other at least a little. The English equivalent is Hi.  
> Bonjour- Probably the first word of French anyone learns. A more formal greeting. Nathalie uses this because as much as she loves Adrien he is still her boss’ son.   
> Maman, j’ai raté l’avion- the French name for Home Alone. Props to anyone who got that was where the chapter title came from.   
> Épée- one of the French words for sword. Also a type of fencing tool.


	5. Nothing Gold Can Stay

    Nathalie picked up thousands of phone calls in her career, but of course, this was the one Gabriel picked up. 

    It was a full month since the last butterfly went after her and Nathalie was out of the office, retrieving files, while Gabriel was wandering into her office on his way downstairs. 

    The phone rang, and normally he would let it go to voicemail but the number must have caught his eye. The area code was significantly removed Paris and she didn’t expect he’d ever seen if before. 

    Nathalie heard vague snatches of the conversation as she climbed the stairs. 

    “Nathalie Sancoeur’s office, you are speaking to Gabriel Agreste.” 

   The voice on the other end gasped. 

   Nathalie couldn’t make out the response but it sounded frantic and deferential. And familiar. 

    Before Gabriel had to respond, Nathalie walked back into her office. He beckoned her over. Frowning, she set the folders down and walked over. 

    Gabriel set his hand over the mouthpiece. 

    “It’s your mother.” 

    Within a millisecond all of Nathalie’s calm evaporated. Oh no. She practically leapt over the desk and snatched the phone from his hand, holding it up to her ear, hands shaking. 

    “Maman?” 

    “Nathalie, good to hear from you.” 

    “What’s wrong, Maman? I thought you didn’t know my office number.” 

    “Nathalie! Of course I know your office number, I’m your mother.” 

    Nathalie flinched. She glanced behind her. Gabriel was still in the office, pointlessly shuffling papers around on her desk. Infuriating man. 

    “Anyway Maman, was there something you wanted?” 

    Her mother cleared her throat. 

    “Well, you know I respect your decision to-” 

    Nathalie felt a hot strike of fury build in her chest. 

    “Maman! You know full well why I left and I’m not going to come running just whenever-” 

    “-Chérie it’s your brother!” 

    Nathalie forgot Gabriel was in the room. 

    “No. If he’s done something he ought to get himself out of it. I’m not his keeper or his guardian angel. He’s a grown man.” 

    “You haven’t even heard what I’m speaking of,” her mother exclaimed. 

    “I haven’t but I don’t need to. Was there anything else ?” 

    Her mother sighed. Natalie groaned internally. Her brother really had the worst habits. 

    Even though she was much younger than him, Nathalie had always been expected to bail him out of his little scrapes because she was smarter than him. Book smart not street smart, she had yelled almost countless times at her parents before slamming the door in their pleading faces. If there weren’t up to a parent teacher conference she wasn’t either. 

    Yet without fail Nathalie would come creeping out of her room within a few hours, ready with a solution. And thus it remained until her brother, in high school at the time had broken a law. Nothing major, just driving without a license, but Nathalie recognized the situation for what it was: out of hand. He wasn’t going to stop and she was going to be expected to do her duty forever. She couldn’t take it. 

    The minute she was old enough, Nathalie had left her home to live alone, cutting off contact with her spineless parents and her awful brother. Nevertheless, she’d been called upon a few times in the past years but she’d been on a streak for half a decade and she was loath to break it. This was just the icing on the cake of stress she devoured every morning. 

    Her mother spoke up again and it was only then that Nathalie realized that the other end of the phone had remained suspiciously silent throughout her reminiscing. 

    “It’s bad, Nat.” A steadying breath. “if you don’t do something, Luka may end up in jail for decades!” 

    This was so typical, not if _we_ don’t do something, if _you_ don’t- wait what the hell had her mother said? It wasn’t difficult to guess what crimes would incur that type of punishment. Her breath came in strangled gasps. 

    “H-has he…Maman what. Did. Luka. DO?!” 

    Her mother sobbed. Nathalie’s heart dropped. 

    “He was just playing a joke, that’s all it was, with some friends.” 

    That sounded unlikely. 

    “He was drunk,” Nathalie’s mother allowed. Of course. 

    “And, well you know his friends chérie. They thought it’d be funny to break into a house. Not to take something, just for the thrill of it.” 

    That idiot. 

    “The man who owned the house caught them but he, he was quite old honey. I’m afraid that in the shock of the moment he had a heart attack. His wife woke and called the ambulance but it was too late.” 

    Nathalie felt sick to her stomach for so many reasons. Deep sadness at the thought of the poor man. Horror at Luka’s irresponsible actions. And a twisted sense of relief that she hated herself for. Manslaughter, not murder. 

    A hand fell on her shoulder. Nathalie was ashamed to say she jumped. The steady weight of Gabriel’s hand made it clear how very much she was shaking. She gritted her teeth. 

    She was a Sancoeur, she was stronger than this, and she’d deal with it under her own power. It was just another tick on the list of horrid things her brother had done. She’d clean up the mess like a good little daughter and move on. Her spine straightened. 

    “Have you found a lawyer?”

    “No I was hoping you knew one. You know, you must come into contact with all sorts of people in your line of work.” 

    It was even worse than normal. How dare her mother suggest she use her job related influence to bail out her moronic brother? Never mind that that influence was considerable and effective. It was an insult to her integrity and while Nathalie was many awful things, underhanded was not one of them. At least, not too often. 

    “No, Maman. I don’t know any lawyers.” 

    A lie, but one she was using for the sake of her integrity, so maybe it was alright. Who was she trying to impress anyway? 

    “You find a lawyer, I will wire you some money to pay for them along with a small gift.” 

    That gift was going to be a legal dictionary. 

    “But that’s it.” 

    Gabriel’s nails dug into her shoulder, reacting to her tone or trying to hold her still was unclear. 

    “Luka has to get himself out of this one. As long as he has a reasonable lawyer the charge will be manslaughter, significantly less awful and he’ll just end up jailed for half the time.” 

    “Jailed!” Her mother wailed. “You can’t do that to Luka, your only brother!” 

    “I can and I will. Maman, surely you see it. Because of Luka a man is dead. He has to take responsibility for his own actions. I am **done** with doing it for him.” 

    And before her mother could retort, Nathalie slammed the receiver down. Gabriel’s hand moved, pulling her to face him, but she resisted, unwilling to face that discerning pale blue gaze just yet. He’d see right through her, and she wouldn’t have that. 

    Nathalie collected herself in a moment, locking away the pain, then gave in to Gabriel’s demand, a fire in her irises. 

    “I apologize for the distraction sir. The files are on my desk. Please notify me if there are any errors.” 

    He let go. Nathalie almost teared up right there. Neither of them were particularly good at displays of emotion when neither was in grave danger. They’d forget about those instances in the moments after, or at least they’d pretend to. But allowing her to work, to deal with her issues on her own was the nicest thing Gabriel could have done. He knew her all too well really. 

    Then again, she supposed, it was enough of a two-way street already. What she knew about Gabriel could fill several scandalous books and still have extra for the tabloid columns. 

    “I will. Remember your shift ends at 15:00.” 

    Nathalie’s head jerked up. Her shift ended at 17:00. The look in Gabriel’s eyes brokered no argument. 

    “Of course, sir.” 

    Nathalie sat in the chair behind her desk, willing her legs to stop shaking and her mind to stop producing the image of an old man, dying on the floor of his own home, and her brother, one foot already out the window. 

    Horror settled over her like a blackout. Luka had crossed a line. He had crossed the biggest line there was and Nathalie had never been religious but she feared a moment for his soul. 

    Her hands mindlessly shuffled papers and did work while her mind boiled. In her darkest moments had she ever expected Luka would go this far? She hoped not. If she had at least the smallest bit of naïveté left about Luka, she could justify her own nausea. Otherwise the fault was on her, for recognizing the threat and not acting to put it down earlier. For running away like a coward too scared to be an adult. For the first time ever, Nathalie wished she could stay at work longer. As long as she remained behind her white desk, under the comforting shadow of Gabriel’s grief and Adrien’s depression, the spell would remain in place and she wouldn’t have to face it all when she was alone. 

    For a brief second alcohol looked mighty attractive, but she had no one in her apartment at the moment and ending the night three sheets to the wind would do nothing to lessen her pain later. Hangover plus crippling trauma? No thank you. 

    15:00 snuck up on Nathalie. She had done most of her work, but the guilt from not completing all of it was overwhelming. She shot off a quick email to Gabriel, saying she was taking her tablet for the day and intended to complete everything at home. He didn’t respond. 

    Nathalie didn’t bother to turn on the lights in her apartment, the blue ones she’d attached slightly more positive than the way fluorescence bared everything it touched. For a couple minutes the blue glow was comforting, but then she found cooking was nearly impossible in the lowered light and had to give up. 

    She spread some maroille on a slice of baguette and sat down with the tablet open in front of her. Work was her only escape from her own mind and Nathalie found that when 18:00 rolled around she had completed not only her load for the day but several assignments she’d been doing in steps. Not a great sign. Completing work without any pacing or planning was a nasty habit left over from her high school days. 

    She opened her mail. Nothing from Gabriel. Oh well she might as well get started on that---what was the use? Nathalie banged her fist on her kitchen table. She’d have to face all of her baggage at some point. She was only more the coward for putting it off. 

    Nathalie retreated to her bed. With a vicious pull, she removed the red comb from her bun, leaving it to fall apart. She let the red streak fall over her ear, ignoring the way her skin prickled. Her aubergine blazer hit her armchair, along with her slacks. The red turtleneck was next. 

    When enough air was ruffling and freezing her arms, Nathalie collapsed on her bed, pressing her face into the mattress like she was trying to suffocate. She fisted her nails into the sheets. She could do this. She _could_. Just let it all out. It’ll be cathartic and she’d feel better afterwards. Or comparatively better. 

    Once the box in her mind was opened, the shakes got out of Nathalie’s control fast. She wasn’t even crying, just shivering, her breath huffing and choking in the mattress. What on Earth had Luka done? Had he lost his mind? Even drunken men should know better, even men with the barest hint of intelligence should know better. 

    She could no longer feel her fingers. What if he went jail for the rest of his life? How long before her mother was on her case about that? What about him? What kind of sister was she that she couldn’t muster up sympathy for him? Did she hate her own family? Why was it so hard to breathe? She must not be human, not be real. After all, no normal person would be so…heartless. Heartless. Heartless. Heartless. Nathalie Heartless. You waste of a woman. You deserve everything you were named for and what comes with it. Nathalie tasted salt. 

    A small object alighted on her bare back, pressing its cold pads to the edges of the tattoo there. The design was small in comparison to what Nathalie had initially planned on, storming into the tattoo parlor on her eighteenth birthday, drunk on anger. Instead of a giant red and black striped tiger, Nathalie’s reason had ultimately bucked up and permanently decorated her skin with a small white rose. 

    Why a white rose? White for purity and innocence, a remnant of what she was leaving behind. And a rose because it was the only flower she could think of. 

    Nevertheless, whenever one of these moments hit, Nathalie became very conscious of the white rose. And what it could have been; the place it represented. She also knew, without looking, what it was that had landed. What else could it be? In her upset she had forgotten to be concerned about some of the natural Paris wildlife. 

    “Go on,” she choked. No movement. She turned slightly onto one side, glancing at the black butterfly. 

    “What are you waiting for?” 

    Still no movement. She bucked up and the butterfly, surprisingly, fell off and onto her bedspread. She turned to face it. 

    “Why?” She asked. So much was contained in that one question. The insect fluttered forward. Its leg touched her thigh. 

_Too much work._

    “Go to hell.” 

    He laughed. 

    “I’m not attacking you. I’m just sitting right here. Come on.” 

    _But what about your dear little employer? And his adorable son?_

    A silver of fear sliced through Nathalie’s heart. But Gabriel’s words were stronger. She sat up straighter.

    “Give me a break.” 

    _No_. 

    “Why?” She asked again. 

    A deep chuckle. 

    _Because watching you suffer without end is so much more fun._

    With that the butterfly shot into the air and moved towards the window. Nathalie scrambled after it. 

    “Come back! Get back here! You coward!” 

    The butterfly continued on its way. Nathalie made a leaping grab for it. She missed and fell into a chair. Wincing through the pain, she caught the last glimpse of the butterfly as it phased through her window. 

    “Come back…” She whispered. The chair beneath her groaned then collapsed, its legs giving out with a crack. Nathalie didn’t move. She sat in the wreckage, splinters digging into her legs, and her tearstained face pressed into the wallpaper. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is just angst and sadness. But not to worry, there’s another chapter left. And for those who know me from the Zades fandom, you know this kind of angst is my specialty. This one may seem light on the romance, however, I’m gearing up to make the next chapter a doozy. I apologize for how late this chapter is, I was swept up in exams and multiple different fandoms. Hopefully this one will be finished soon. Thank you for sticking with me. 
> 
> I also don’t agree with Nathalie’s views on cowardice and everything but that’s the way she thinks.

**Author's Note:**

> This first one is real short and nonspecific because I just wanted to publish something after so long but the other ones will be longer. 
> 
> I really really really hope the characterization is alright because I didn't edit it.


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